


Black Hearts, White Lies

by darkle_darkle



Category: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cat Ears, Dissociation, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lalafell (Final Fantasy XIV), Love Triangles, Miqo'te (Final Fantasy XIV), No Lesbians Die, Possibly Unrequited Love, Secret Relationship, Tea, Unrequited Crush, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27043120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkle_darkle/pseuds/darkle_darkle
Summary: When The Warrior of Darkness burns themselves out, it's up to Y'shtola and the Leveilleur twins to contend with the unexpected fallout.(Author's Note: I had originally used my own FFXIV character's name in this story, but have since replaced it with "The Warrior of Darkness" for this version instead. Feel free to replace every instance of "The Warrior of Darkness" with your own character name.)
Relationships: Y'shtola Rhul/Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Black Hearts, White Lies

Some days it felt like the ringing never fully stopped. Maybe it never did, and the ringing simply had become the background noise of a life filled with passion, rage, and violence.

But on days like this, she could hear it loud and clear. The taste of copper in her mouth which often accompanied the cacophony in her head had become an almost comforting sensation in recent times.

She remained on her knees, a writhing mass of WHITE laid lifeless before her. Little more than a disgusting pile of WHITE gore. Rotting, festering pustules of WHITE, oozing filthy WHITE ichor onto the ground. 

The Warrior of Darkness would satiate the vitriol inside of her, stabbing the corpse with her blade until her body was exhausted, if not for very notable blood loss -- and her drive for survival -- drawing her back from the brink.

“-get-”

“-don’t-”

“-careful-”

She could scarcely tell what was being said. But she could recognize the familiar voices of her Scion companions no matter what fog or noise may be obstructing her thoughts. 

The Warrior of Darkness couldn’t help but flinch at the touch of her shoulder, gentle as it was. With one hand, Y’shtola communicated more understanding than words could have said. The blind miqo’te knew her acerbic wisdom and dry wit would not have penetrated the Warrior of Darkness’ skull at this time. There was still too much noise, that much she could see.

The twins’ bickering however, was becoming more and more pronounced by the passing second.

“-so RECKLESS! I cannot BELIEVE you would-”

“-SOMEONE had to-”

“-did you even CONSIDER-

“-I didn’t think YOU of all people-”

“-of COURSE you didn’t THINK-

The Warrior of Darkness could feel their anger well up within them. The incessant prattle. The pointless arguing. The lump in her throat and the increasing darkness surrounding them, which could only mean one thing. 

Y’shtola took a step back. She had seen this before and knew what -- or more precisely *who* -- was coming. On any given day The Warrior of Darkness could keep their inner dark side at bay, but not today it would seem.

Shadow upon shadow coalesced at The Warrior of Darkness’ feet, and a dark figure, a black mirror of herself grew ever taller, looking down on their flesh and bone counterpart.

“DO YOU TWO EVER STOP,” the shade snarled at the twins. Alphinaud and Alisaie stood slack-jawed. The sight of their friend -- or what looked and no doubt sounded like their friend -- spitting venom at them had certainly proven enough of a shock to shake them out of whatever verbal tangle of barbs they had worked themselves into.

Looking back down at her other self -- wounded and still reeling from battle -- the shadow self frowned and asked aloud, “I thought we agreed we weren’t doing this anymore...”

“Agreed to what, exactly,” Y’shtola asked bluntly, dusting herself off casually. Silence filling the air, the miqo’te crossed her arms expectantly and added, “Fray, was it?”

“Thank you! At least SOMEONE has the sense to show me a little courtesy!” Fray spat back, arms wide with a sarcastic, yet slight, grin to accompany their snide remark. 

“You know I don’t just DISAPPEAR, right? I’m always RIGHT THERE,” the shade pointed aggressively at The Warrior of Darkness, who, visibly growing tired of Fray’s attitude, smacked the hand away with as much force as they could muster -- which was, sadly, not much.

“You’ve yet to answer my question,” Y’shtola shifted her weight and put her hands on her hips, making it plain that she was not willing to entertain the dark figure’s emotional outbursts. Her piercing white eyes dug directly at Fray, who remained uncertain whether the miqo’te’s aethersight allowed her to see them in any true capacity. It was perhaps as close as the shade was willing to admit to themselves to being unnerved by anything. Not that Fray would ever give the miqo’te the satisfaction of admitting it.

“THIS! All of this,” Fray relented and confessed exhaustedly, “The endless fighting for the ungrateful and ignorant masses. The near suicidal quest for what I can only assume is some misguided attempt at martyrdom! YOU may not care for their well-being, but I DO! And I will put an end to this madness if I must!”

Y’shtola rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, as if contending with an unruly child and their poorly timed tantrum.

Alphinaud, finding the courage to finally speak, said, “I know not who, or what, you are, Fray. Though you may speak with their voice and share their face, you are NOT our friend. And I insist that you return from whence you came!”

Y’shtola, sighed, long and deep, face firmly in palm.

“Oh but I AM,” Fray laughed. “I am every dark thought that resides within the dark corners of her mind, and let me tell YOU, I have a LOT of thoughts about you and your hot-heade-”

Fray felt their feet lift from the ground as The Warrior of Darkness gripped her fingers -- still sticky with blood -- around Fray’s neck. She drew her face close to the shadow’s own, and growled:

“SHUT. UP.”

For the first time in a good while there was complete and utter silence. 

Even the ringing had stopped.

Fray glared back at The Warrior of Darkness. Their eyes betrayed a sadness that only their better half could understand. Once again, the two halves had come to an unspoken compromise. And as the hand slowly loosened from the shade’s neck a flash of metal flew through the air.

“I’ve got them now!”

Alisaie lunged forward, her rapier aimed squarely towards Fray’s head.

A loud clang of metal rang as The Warrior of Darkness herself deflected Alisaie’s attack with her blade, Fray still within the grasp of her other arm.

“STOP.” 

Her eyes met with Alisaie’s, almost pleading. The young elezen felt extreme remorse for her actions, suddenly realizing her folly -- but words failed her. Withdrawing her rapier and silently taking a step back was all she could do.  
No sooner had Alisaie moved away, Fray’s shadowy form began to dissipate into nothing, and The Warrior of Darkness toppled over, completely spent. The young elf maiden was still close enough to catch their friend mid-fall, confused and ashamed as they still were at the events that had just transpired.

Everything went silent and black for The Warrior of Darkness. Blessed black, away from the wicked WHITE.

\---

While the miqo’te witch and the prodigious twins would spirit their companion safely away to The Crystarium, their encounter with her other self had left them somewhat shaken. While Y’shtola maintained her calm and cool head about her, Alphinaud wasted no time conjuring up a dozen different rationalizations for what had happened. 

Alisaie, for her part, felt extremely conflicted. 

Back in their room at The Crystarium, the young elezen maiden struggled to make peace with what she had witnessed; and what she had done. 

“I was SO stupid,” Alisaie berated herself, arms flailing as she paced across the room.

Alphinaud, busy perusing through his tomes nodded, barely acknowledged what his sister had just said, responding with but a casual, “Mm-hmm.”

“You don’t understand,” Alisaie toppled backwards onto the couch.

Alphinaud, eyes still grazing the pages of his book, ears perked, “Hmm? Understand what?”

“I could have killed her,” Alisaie mournfully moaned into a pillow on the couch. “Or a PART of her, at least.”

Her brother -- his nose plunged in a book in search of his own answers -- had little consolation to offer. “You could have, yes,” he said flatly, face still between pages, with little thought or consideration.

“Augh,” Alisaie groaned tossing a pillow at Alphinaud’s head, “You are impossible to talk to!”

Alphinaud looked up just in time to get clocked in the face with a feathered cushion, his sister already gone when he finally took stock of what had happened. 

“We really do need to be more aware of the things we say -- and to whom we are saying them,” the young elezen muttered to himself.

“Perhaps someone else can afford her the counsel that I cannot,” he mused.

\---

Alisaie had already made it halfway to the infirmary where The Warrior of Darkness was being kept before he could finish his thought, however. Whether Alisaie was in search of absolution, looking to assuage her fears about her friends well-being, or both, she was not quite certain. What she did know is that she was not going to make peace with herself by sitting around feeling sorry.

Caught up in her own mind, the elezen girl barely noticed that Y’shtola had somehow crept up in front of her, standing in the hallway to The Warrior of Darkness’ room.

“While I sympathise, perhaps now is not the right time,” the miqo’te said plainly. “They are still in need of rest,” Y’shtola explained, her blank eyes staring intently, knowingly, at the granddaughter of Louisoix.

“Will they be alright,” Alisaie could not help but blurt her words out. Pressing her hands against her chest and taking a deep breath, she added, “I could have-”

“Let’s have none of that,” Y’shtola interjected calmly. “She and I are partly at fault for concealing Fray’s existence. You knew not what to do.” 

Alisaie looked up at the miqo’te as if trying to formulate words that she could not speak. Even through her blind eyes, Y’shtola could tell a “sad puppy” look when she saw it. Her words having done little to assuage the young elezen, the matronly miqo’te gestures away from the infirmary to some place where they could perhaps speak more comfortably -- and privately.

\---

Settling on a nearby café, Y’shtola bade the proprietor prepare some tea and tarts for herself and her young charge. Alisaie was still very much caught in the cage of her own thoughts, and the miqo’te hoped some warmth and sweets could perhaps bring her some comfort, if fleeting at that.

A tall elezen waiter promptly arrived with their order, gently placing the cups and plates before them with nary a sound. He was gone as quickly as he came -- a gentle bow to punctuate his departure.

Alisaie could only fidget in her seat, as if a child waiting for a scolding from their teacher. Y’shtola was always calm as a cucumber, but her words could flay skin if given the inclination. The typically feisty elezen could only wonder as to what the miqo’te was conjuring up in her head at this very moment.

Y’shtola, however, was more focused on breathing in her tea as it steeped and cooled on the saucer before her. She always felt better equipped to maneuver emotional conversations with a clear head, and nothing else in Eorzea or Norvrandt helped clear her head quite like a cup of tea. And she was not about to let this day -- or any other -- interrupt her ritual. There was nothing Alisaie could have to say could ruffle her feathers.

“I think… I think I love The Warrior of Darkness”

Y’shtola broke into a coughing fit. 

Or was she laughing? 

Alisaie couldn’t quite tell.

“Are you alright,” Alisaise asked as she stood up from her side of the table.

“Tart-”

“But you haven’t had-”

Y’shtola waved, gesturing for Alisaie to sit back down. After clearing her throat, the miqo’te steadied herself, sat up straight, and looked Alisaie directly in the eyes, “Ahem! You’ll have to forgive me. I didn’t quite catch that.”

If Alisaie didn’t know any better, she’d say Y’shtola was holding back a smile. Or perhaps her throat was still sore. Who could tell. Nonetheless, she pressed forward and repeated herself:

“I think I have romantic feelings for The Warrior of Darkness.”

Y’shtola let out a small cough under her breath and cleared her throat. 

“I see.”

The words hung in the air for what felt like an eternity; especially to a young maiden who had just a second ago professed her love for someone they cared deeply about. Someone they fear may have been hurt by their actions. 

The thought still ate at her. And Alisaie didn’t like silence on a good day. Slowly, but surely, her temper finally began to bubble through all the doubt and despondence.

“Say it! I’m too young to know any better,” Alisaie threw her hands up. “It’s just some naive infatuation I’ve developed over the course of our adventures. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

Y’shtola’s expression betrayed nothing. Whether there might have been a kernel of truth to Alisaie’s accusations, Y’shtola was not saying. Instead she cupped her tea, took a deep breath, and calmly delivered the semi-sweet scented drink into her lips.

After delicately placing the tea cup back onto it’s saucer, the miqo’te looked back at the elezen with a face that could have been stone.

“It is not my place to tell you how to feel,” she finally spoke. “Nor is it my place to presume as to whether said feelings are born of passion, or lust, or childish whimsy.” 

“What I do know,” Y’shtola continued, white eyes piercing the young girl’s soul, “is that, lest you intend to declare your feelings to The Warrior of Darkness, there is nothing to be said or done about it. As is often with matters of the heart, self-delusion only leads to pain for all involved. You can either speak your heart, and accept the consequences, or swallow the emotion and let it burn from within.”

“But,” Alisaie stammered, “what do YOU think I should do?”

Y’shtola sighed, gently raised her arm to take another gulp of her tea, and said, “What I think is of little to no consequence. All that matters is what you choose to do, and, if necessary, how The Warrior of Darkness responds.” 

“Augh,” Alisaie pulled at her hair. “They’re probably still angry at me for nearly stabbing the- them- that other self!”

“Fray.”

“Whatever it was!”

Alisaie face-planted onto the table. 

Y’shtola remained unphased, ears twitching in annoyance. 

Beginning to feel sorry -- and perhaps a bit embarrassed -- at her fellow Scion’s emotional display, the miqo’te witch chose to offer some wisdom.

“While Fray may take their namesake from a deceased Dark Knight, they are in fact a manifestation of The Warrior of Darkness’ own feelings and emotions.” 

Alisaie raised one brow inquisitively, “Beg your pardon.”

“To love The Warrior of Darkness,” Y’shtola paused with some apprehension, “is to love Fray. For they are one and the same.”

“I cannot tell you what you should do,” the miqo’te added. “Nor will I. But you should at the very least make that choice understanding just who you are intending to court.” 

Y’shtola stood up, her eyes looking back towards the infirmary, as if scanning for where The Warrior of Darkness lay. Her tail darted from side to side, before abruptly coming to a halt.

“Perhaps in your years of comraderie you have come to understand her in ways that allow you to embrace her in totality. Or perhaps you are merely suffering from slight delusions of hero-worship,” she elaborated.

“And mayhaps your hopes aren’t as misplaced as you think. They are much closer to your age than they are to mine, after all.”

Noticing Alisaie’s face suddenly light up, Y’shtola raised one finger that demanded attention. 

“That said, today is NOT the day for such flights of fancy. Possibly not for several moons. The Warrior of Darkness needs to recover from their ordeal, and I’ll not have you burden her recovery with the emotional labor of your adoration OR contrition. Understood?”

Alsiaie nodded in agreement, and assured herself that she would make amends and hold her feelings in her heart until and if a right time ever came in the future. 

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. But for now, I must go tend to The Warrior of Darkness.”

“You won’t… tell them will you,” Alisaie shook her head, as if only now realizing what she’d just confessed.

“I will not tell them anything they do not already know,” Y’shtola said with a wry smile. “Now finish your tea before it gets cold. And be sure to bring back some tarts for your brother. Those aren’t ALL meant for you.” she instructed, sauntering towards the infirmary.

\---

The room was cool and dark. The Warrior of Darkness liked it that way. A welcome respite of the overbearing and unforgiving light. Slowly, agonizingly, they lurched to sit upright in their bed.

Their breath was rough. 

Their body ached. 

They were fairly certain that several ribs were broken. 

And they could still taste copper in their mouth.

Just before The Warrior of Darkness was about to allow themselves to fall back onto the bed and pray that blissful unconsciousness would once again take them, a small sliver of light made itself known through the door.

The figure ushered themselves quickly into the room and closed the door behind them. “Tis I,” the familiar voice spoke.

“Thank... the Twelve,” The Warrior of Darkness said between strained breaths. “Though... it might be that… overly perky nurse again.”

“Well, if you’ve the zeal to be cheeky about it,” the silhouette responded, “then you must be recovering exceptionally well.”

“Beautifully,” The Warrior of Darkness chuckled into hack and cough. “Hand me my sword so that I might drag my way out of here.”

“Not until you can speak without collapsing a lung, I’m afraid.”

“Fine,” The Warrior of Darkness relented. “Did you find Alisaie?”

“Unsurprisingly, I ran into her moping in the hall right outside,” said Y’shtola, finally sitting on the nearby chair, where The Warrior of Darkness could see them. 

“She takes things very hard, that one,” The Warrior of Darkness sighed.

“They both do,” Y’shtola added. “Her brother’s absent-mindedness and more measured approach merely means he has time to enact greater disarray; as opposed to several smaller ones, as she does.”

“So how is she,” The Warrior of Darkness inquired, breathing still heavy. “I had… hoped… that no one else would see me like that.”

“It is too early to tell how this may change their perception of you,” Y’shtola explained. Trust that she is fine for the time being. Confused perhaps, but otherwise hale and hearty.”

“Confused?”

“The poor girl was ready to burst in here and confess her undying love for you,” Y’shtola casually let slip.

“She really thinks it isn’t that obvious,” The Warrior of Darkness said with a pained chuckle.

“Worry not,” the miqo’te reassured, “I had words with her about it.”

The Warrior of Darkness raised one curious eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Do not look at me with such suspicion,” Y’shtola feigned offense, “I did not discourage her.”

“I merely spoke to her about finding an appropriate time and place,” Y’shtola continued, “And that professing one’s devotion is perhaps best reserved for when the object of their affections is NOT tending to broken bones.”

The Warrior of Darkness grinned impishly and asked, “What, prey tell, do you intend to do if she ever does?”

The miqo’te leaned in closer, a mischievous smile on her face. Gently kissing The Warrior of Darkness on their broken lips, she whispered, “That, my love, is another story for another day.”


End file.
